


Horatio

by ifreet



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-18
Updated: 2011-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifreet/pseuds/ifreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hiatus fic that follows from episode 2.09 and was written prior to the broadcast of 2.10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Horatio

**Author's Note:**

> Mozzie returns. Or maybe Neal's just crazy.

Peter brought him the news. Idiot that he was, Neal had been glad to learn he had a visitor, gladder still to learn it'd be Agent Burke of stern countenance and soft touch beneath.

"Peter," Neal exclaimed happily, as he came face to face with his visitor. That was fast; he'd assumed that Peter would spend weeks getting him back out -- assuming he was willing to try at all. Neal hadn't planned much beyond confronting Fowler -- had expected that confrontation to end it all, his search for justice, vengeance, _answers_. He hadn't planned on discovering a bigger conspiracy, another puppet master further behind the strings.

"Neal, sit down." Peter's expression was grave. Neal felt his stomach drop but hid his unease. Always look as though you're in control, and often enough the pretense made it true. He sat and looked inquisitively at Peter. "It's Mozzie." Scenarios flashed through his mind, Mozzie implicated in an investigation, in jail, in trouble with a major player while Neal was trapped in here. "Neal, he's dead."

"Oh," said Neal, soft and quiet and not entirely voluntary. Somehow, that possibility hadn't even crossed his mind. "How...?"

Peter's mouth tightened. "He was killed." Peter raised his voice slightly, overriding Neal's incipient questions. "He was killed, and no, we don't know if it's connected to you or the music box or... anything else, so you're going into protective custody."

Neal started to nod agreement, then made the necessary connections. Protective custody, while in prison, meant solitary. Oh, no. He would not do well in solitary; he needed people too much. "That's not--"

"No argument."

"Peter--"

"It's not up for debate." Peter stood, seizing the psychological advantage of height, and just because Neal recognized it didn't mean it didn't work. Peter hesitated the briefest moment, then laid a hand on Neal's shoulder on his way past. "I'm sorry about Mozzie."

"Me, too," Neal replied, but Peter was already on his way out. The guard took him straight to his new cell.

On the bright side, there'd be no witness to the inevitable breakdown.

***

"Alright, people," Peter said as he strode into the conference room. "We have reason to believe the Cleveland Kid is in town."

" _I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix_..."

Neal grit his teeth and kept his gaze focused on Peter. Cleveland Kid? Now there was a ridiculous name straight out of the thirties. He wondered how the moniker had attached to a guy whose (alleged) crimes were far from juvenile.

"... a bit of an embarrassment to the Chicago office," Peter was saying. There was a trace of a smile around his eyes, hinting at a story. Neal wondered who in Chicago had triggered Peter's competitive streak.

" _Angel-headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,_ " Mozzie continued, giving Neal a sidelong look.

The folder Neal was holding creaked under the pressure of his fingers, the pages within crinkling before he consciously relaxed his hands. Calm, cool, collected, _sane_. Nothing to see here, Peter.

" _who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz..._ "

He winced slightly as Mozzie's voice and hands rose, getting into the spirit of the oration. So to speak. It was so much easier to ignore Mozzie when Neal was otherwise occupied. Meetings gave him too much time to think -- or hallucinate. He'd no idea he remembered this much from "Howl."

"Problem, Neal?" Peter was staring at him, a touch of real concern showing around the brusque question. He hadn't recovered quite fast enough.

"Hm? Oh, no, it's fine." He bent his head toward the documents he'd been pretending to examine. Neal smoothed the photo on the table and pretended to be engrossed in the image. After a moment, the pretense turned real. "Huh." Peter had started to turn to the white board and twisted back. Neal flipped the page, checking the location. "There's something familiar about ... The Breckenridge Twist."

"I think you're right," Mozzie agreed, leaning over his shoulder.

Neal flicked an irritated glance at his interested expression. "Of course I'm right."

"I'm not questioning your expertise," Peter put in mildly, "I'm just asking you to share with the rest of the class."

Mozzie startled at Peter's interruption, then smiled in satisfaction at Neal. "I knew you could hear me."

Neal tuned him out. Mozzie wasn't the problem; he was a symptom. Mozzie was what happened when Neal spent too much time in prison -- or to be specific, too much time in isolation. Therefore, the solution was _not_ to engage with Mozzie but rather to stay out of jail. Which he could do by remaining useful to the FBI. "Sorry. The Breckenridge Twist is a big store con -- old school and involved. The Cleveland Kid's not going to be able to pull it off without doing some serious recruiting." He filled in the details, determinedly not tracking Mozzie as he wandered around the room.

When the meeting finally ended and the agents filed out of the room, Neal lingered. Peter gave him a searching look, but Neal ignored it easily, feigning an interest in the view which was made more believable by virtue of being true. Mozzie's image stood ghostly beside his own pale reflection. "Took you long enough."

Neal pretended he didn't hear him.

***

One of the Cleveland Kid's usual crew had a gambling habit, mostly cards. It was not quite an addiction, not enough to keep the Kid from using Tom on this job, but enough to leverage? Neal tapped his pen against his desk, eyes sliding to the betting sheet again.

"You're not going to try to pull the wire. Tell me you're not going to try the wire."

Neal's eyebrow twitched, but he immediately smoothed his expression.

"Neal, do you know why no one does the wire anymore? Because it doesn't work. You can't control the information flow when your mark has a smart phone. He won't fall for it."

He would fall for it. Neal could set up the perfect situation -- the inside line on a tip too good to pass up, have to act fast. Make it horses, so Neal could play to the man's greed but cut him away from his actual area of knowledge. Given no time to think or plan, even a con man like Tom could be conned.

"Anyway, it lacks finesse."

"It does not--" Neal pressed his lips together.

"Ha! Knew you couldn't ignore me forever."

Neal glanced around the mostly-empty room, then glared. "Congratulations. I'm crazy."

Mozzie frowned with disapproval. "Don't let the suits set your definitions."

Neal half-laughed but cut it off quickly. "I think talking to my invisible dead friend is crazy by anyone's definition."

"'There are more things...'" Mozzie shrugged. "You're so worried about what people think, pick up your phone."

That would work -- he should have thought of it himself. He shook his head. He _had_ thought of it himself; his hallucination's ideas had to come from somewhere. Neal put his cell phone by his ear. "Hello."

Mozzie waved. "Hello, Neal. Now about this so-called plan of yours..."

***

The Kid's store was pulling up stakes and preparing to leave town. The local shills, including Neal, were being paid, and soon there'd be no sign anything had happened here at all. Well, no sign except for all the evidence the FBI already had in hand -- evidence that was even now accruing, thanks to the wire Neal was wearing. Neal collected his own envelope and checked it to find the payment promised. He nodded to the Kid. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Could be more in the future. Tom knows how to get a hold of you, right?"

"Absolutely," Neal said. The Kid gestured him on towards the door.

Neal contained his smile. Mozzie was looking smug enough for the both of them anyway -- until suddenly he wasn't, looking past Neal and shouting, "Gun!" Neal hit the ground before the first resounding crack shattered the window and had taken cover behind the heavy wooden receptionist's desk by the second.

"What are you doing?" Tom cried out. Well, at least his con on Tom had held. Maybe the Kid was just the suspicious type. If Peter got him out, that would be comforting.

"Is working for the feds always this dangerous?" Mozzie demanded, squatting beside him.

"What are you so worried about?" Neal muttered at him. Another shot thunked into the side of the desk, and he winced at the spray of splinters. Then Peter's team burst in shouting, and the gunfire stopped. Neal prudently waited for the all clear before standing.

Peter was on him in an instant. "You okay?" He didn't wait for an answer, checking him over with eyes and hands as though Neal might be hiding an injury.

"I'm fine," he answered. Mozzie was staring anxiously at him. Okay, _physically_ , he was fine. Mentally, he was no worse.

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure. I'd gotten my pay, and I was leaving, when --" Mozzie shouted. Neal frowned. "I must have seen his reflection."

Peter's glance at the broken window was dubious. Neal followed the line of his eyes. The angle was wrong, and the light outside too bright for a strong reflection on this side of the glass. Neal's gaze drifted, inevitably, toward Mozzie.

Mozzie threw his hands up in the air. "I keep telling you, I'm not a hallucination."

For the first time, Neal thought it might be all right to believe him.


End file.
